


Someone's Voice to Say Your Name

by callmejude



Series: Summer Offerings [3]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Begging, Come Eating, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Identity Issues, M/M, Multi, Praise Kink, Sexual Fantasy, Spitroasting, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-20 13:45:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15535560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmejude/pseuds/callmejude
Summary: Theon is so proud of Jon, he wants others to appreciate him, too.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theonsfavouritetoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonsfavouritetoy/gifts).



Some nights, Theon will stay late in Jon’s room, until he’s fallen asleep. Jon always has to ask, and Theon will usually mock him, but since Theon’s own nameday some fews months gone, he hasn’t ever denied the request. Always, Jon wakes with the sunlight beaming onto an empty space in the sheets beside him, but the smell of salt still clings to them each morning. 

He’s not sure why he likes it so much. There’s rarely much of anything outside of simply lying together, but Jon appreciates the closeness of it. He likes the warmth, and not feeling alone as he drifts off to sleep. Sometimes he thinks what he likes most is knowing he can actually manage to persuade Theon to doing it at all. But Theon is often tender after nightfall, when Jon is clinging to him and there is no one else to see. Usually, by the time Theon is in bed beside him, Jon forgets all about how different Theon is in daylight. When they’re alone, he’ll stroke Jon’s hair and press kisses to his temple. Sometimes Jon can hear him humming as he falls asleep. 

Come morning, Theon has always left his bed empty. When Jon finally leaves his room and meets his family for breakfast, Theon is always is seated beside Robb. In daylight, he teases and jabs at Jon if he bothers to address him at all. But it’s different, now. Jon’s not sure if it just doesn’t bother him as it used to, or if Theon is intentionally being gentler with his barbs. Jon doesn’t make any mention of it, for fear that it may stop.

As unchanged as Theon tries to behave, Robb can sense a difference in him as well. He watches them with a smile now when the two of them manage to interact pleasantly in front of him and the family. He never mentions it — like Jon, he knows better than to bring up any sort of tenderness Theon may reveal — but Jon can see the ease in Robb’s face whenever the three of them are together. It’s what he’d always hoped, for his brother and his friend to be confidants, the bond between the three of them unshakable. Now that Jon and Theon are getting along, he doesn’t question it. Perhaps he just assumes the two of them are getting along for his sake. It’s for the best that he does.

It’s been quite some time since Theon’s nameday, and Jon has slept alone in his bed for almost a whole moon since. At first, daily tasks had just left him too tired, but as time went on Jon was reluctant to bother Theon with his new need. It’s embarrassing, to ask for Theon’s company too often, and Theon never offers himself. Not since the first time, and only then, to put an end Jon’s whining. 

Today, Theon and Robb spent the whole morning in the wolfswood, hunting and drinking. They come back in the afternoon empty-handed but in fair moods, tipsy and laughing along the summer day. It’s easier on Jon’s confidence to ask Theon to stay with him once he’s had some wine, so Jon waits until he catches Theon alone to pull him aside.

“Will you — will you stay with me tonight?”

Theon grins at him, leaning close enough to kiss him, if Jon were brave enough to push up onto his toes. He’s always tempting Jon like this, now. Testing how far he’s permitted. “Feeling lonely are we, Snow?”

He always says it as if he expects to get embarrass Jon, but he never does. Jon is not ashamed, of wanting to be near Theon. 

When Jon nods, Theon reaches up and ruffles his hair. He doesn’t say anything further before he walks away. He rarely does. Jon has learned to take his silence as acceptance.

That night, there’s a quiet knock at Jon’s door well after everyone else in the castle has long gone to bed. When Jon pulls the ironwood door back, Theon is smirking at him. “Happy to see me?”

Jon smiles.

“Gods, you’re a needy thing.”

He’s aiming to get a rise out of him, but Jon only grabs the sleeve of his tunic and tugs him forward, into a kiss. It isn’t like the first time, anymore. Jon knows their game now. It’s more fun to tease back by not saying anything at all. It makes Theon turn pink, every now and again, if Jon lets Theon think he’s right.

This time, Theon doesn’t turn pink, but he cups Jon’s jaw to deepen the kiss, pulling back with a chuckle when Jon drops back onto his heels.

“Spoiled prick,” he says, grinning. 

He slides his hand into Jon’s and lets himself be led into the warm, inviting nest of furs atop Jon’s bed. When he lays onto Jon’s featherbed he stretches, his body like a whipscord, arms pulled taut over his head. The fire in the hearth is low, and shadows swim and pool in the room. Jon watches his muscles work in the cool moonlight before Theon falls limp as a lazy cat stretching in the grass. 

“Alright,” Theon says, reaching over to pat the furs beside him. “C’mon, can’t be at this all night.”

There’s a sting in Jon’s chest at the mention of their limited time. Sometimes, in his more sour moods, he wishes they didn’t live in this castle, so that Theon could spend the night in his bed. 

As he crawls in to nuzzle against Theon’s chest, he grumbles, “Nobody comes into my chambers, other than you.”

“Mn.” Theon slings his arm over Jon’s back with a shrug. “Well, half the castle comes bursting into mine, come morning. Jory or Poole or the maester. Can’t really have them find me here.”

“Would they go looking for you, if you weren’t in your room?” Jon asks. He hadn’t meant to start this conversation, but he’ll have it if Theon will. “Don’t you spend nights out in the brothel? Perhaps they’d guess you woke up and started your chores without their help.”

Theon snorts. “Mayhaps. But if it’s my head I’m betting, I’d prefer not to take the risk, Snow.”

Jon says nothing. Theon risks coming here at all, that’s enough. Instead of saying anything else, he buries his face into Theon’s chest and wriggles to get comfortable. Theon chuckles, and it vibrates against Jon’s skin.

“Gods, you needy little thing. Have you still been with no one else?”

It can’t have been that long since the last time he’s asked that. Jon wonders how often Theon takes others to bed. He wonders how many times he’s done it since taking Jon in the godswood.

“No,” Jon says flatly, “there’s been no one else. No one else in the castle cares to know me ‘lest they’re my blood.”

Theon tisks. “Who said anything about the bloody castle? All the girls are in winter town.”

Jon looks up at that. He opens his mouth to speak, but it takes too long for him to order his thoughts, and Theon gets there first.

“Starting to think that perhaps you lied to me about liking girls,” Theon adds with a grin. “Too shy to tell me you’d rather just get buggered like one than be with one?”

“That’s not it. I like girls,” Jon answers. His hand twitches, reaching for the ties at Theon’s tunic. “I do. It’s just that… I don’t…”

“Gods, not the damn bastard whining again,” Theon says with an exasperated sigh, moving his arm from around Jon’s middle to drape it over his own face. “You think you’re the first man with this trouble? Plenty of ways to fuck a girl that don’t have chance to put a baby in her belly.”

“How’s that?” Jon tilts his head.

When Theon shifts his arm to look at him now, he’s smiling. “Girls have all the same holes we do, Snow.”

The back of Jon’s neck turns red. It doesn’t seem a proper way to be with a woman, the things they’ve done. He drops Theon’s gaze, instead looking at his furs.

“Ros asked about you, you know, the last time I saw her,” Theon mentions offhandedly. Silently, Jon wonders when that was. “I’m sure she’d be more than happy to show you all the things you can do.”

The idea of facing Ros again puts Jon’s heart in his throat. He shuffles further into Theon’s side, shy. “She’d only mock me.”

“Whores don’t do anything unless it earns them money, Snow. If you don’t want her to mock you, she won’t,” Theon tells him. “She quite liked you, I think. Thought you were sweet.”

“Do you often talk about me with your whores?” Jon returns, raising his eyebrows.

Laughing, Theon twists until he’s poised over Jon on the bed, and leans down to nip at Jon’s throat. He does this sometimes, acts as if it’s a punishment. Even when he knows Jon never considers it such. 

“Only the ones you run out on.”

Frowning, Jon shoves him, but Theon only laughs again. 

“Don’t be so cross with me,” he says with a chuckle. “She liked you despite that.”

Jon would shove him again, but Theon’s teeth brush against the tender skin of his throat, and Jon forgets to be angry at all.

“If you’re so afraid of her, perhaps I should come along to watch.”

The promise is abruptly molten in Jon’s blood. He gasps, as if his lungs are full of hot coals. The sound is wet and loud, and Theon sits back from him.

“Like that, would you?”

For an instant, Jon means to deny it. It seems pitiful, to want Theon there. Like he needs a minder. But before he can, the look on Theon’s face comes into focus in the dim light. His eyes are wide and glassy, and his tongue pokes out to lick his lips.

Instead of answering, Jon sits up and asks, voice cracking from the thrill in his spine, “Would you — want to watch me?”

Theon’s smile only widens. “Not if you don’t put on a good show for me.”

“I would,” Jon blurts, embarrassment choking him an instant too late. “I — I mean, I —”

Theon’s eyes are burning in the soft light from the window, and Jon’s humiliation evaporates. The way Theon is looking at him, as if Jon could make him do anything like this, it makes him feel powerful. Theon leans close, an inch from Jon’s face, and Jon drops back onto his elbows to see if he follows closer. 

It’s intoxicating, when he does.

“Am I supposed to believe you?” Theon’s voice comes out hoarse and quiet. “You ran away from her the first time as if she’d been a witch.”

Without waiting, Theon bows his head and nips at Jon’s throat again. Jon groans, and his legs slide apart.

“You’ve never been with a girl before. A woman like Ros would eat you alive.”

At first, Jon hesitates, unsure. Theon sounds intrigued at the thought. Breathlessly, he finally answers, “You — you could teach me. What to do. How to do it.”

“Aye, well,” Theon’s voice shivers, rolling hot down Jon’s spine, “suppose you’d have to listen to me, for once.”

Mindlessly, Jon nods. The air in his room is getting dense and warm, and Jon is losing track of what they are saying. Theon is, as well, it seems.

“Gods, you’d look pretty,” Theon purrs against his throat, “all spread out underneath her. She’s a talented woman. Ros wouldn’t be as kind as I am, you know. She’d — make you wait for it. Til you fell apart.”

Jon starts at Theon’s hand tugging at the laces of his breeches. They haven’t done much else than kissing since Theon’s nameday. Jon is too shy to ask, and Theon makes quite a show of never offering. But now his breath is heavy and short against Jon’s throat, and Jon’s skin is on fire.

Feeling emboldened and heady from the excitement thrumming through Theon’s body, Jon finds it in him to reply, “I thought it was her job to do whatever — I want her to, Greyjoy.”

Theon snarls, one hand flinging out to pin him against the mattress while the other pulls Jon’s cock from his breeches. The moonlight from the window flickers in Theon’s dark eyes, barely an inch from Jon’s face. They’re both panting, chests heaving, the air around them wet and thick. There’s a flash of white as Theon bears his teeth in a grin.

“Not if _I’m_ the one with the coin, Snow.”

His back slamming against the furs reminds Jon of being laid out over his cloak in the godswood, and his mind fades to fog with a low groan. Theon’s hand wraps around both their cocks, stroking them together. It’s still an unfamiliar sensation — hot and solid — and Jon whimpers.

“She’d have to do what _I_ told her,” continues Theon, “if I’m the one to pay her. And you’d — prefer it that way, wouldn’t you? Perhaps you would’ve gone through with it and fucked her the first time, if I’d stayed behind — to tell you how. To order you.”

A thrill charges hot in Jon’s spine, desperate and thrumming. His head spins, and his skin prickles as tension coils below his navel. He snatches a fistful of Theon’s hair to drag him down to meet his mouth. Shivering, Theon crushes Jon into his furs with his full weight, their teeth knocking in the kiss as he continues to drag his hand over the both of them. Jon sighs into the kiss, swept into the power of it. 

They break apart for a breath, and Theon rests his forehead against Jon’s, panting hard against his mouth, working his hand quickly between them. Jon’s vision is blurring, his body burning hot, wound tight like a spring. He feels as if he’ll melt away into nothing among his furs when he feels wet heat land on the hem of his shirt, and Theon gasps.

It’s so quiet so suddenly that Jon almost doesn’t realize, nearly out of his mind from the closeness and heat. But then Theon’s movement starts to slow, the pace of his breathing dropping, and Jon’s eyes fly open. 

“Th — Theon?”

Theon’s shoulders are shaking when he struggles to look up from where his head is bowed over Jon’s chest. He’s spent, Jon realizes, that quickly. He’s spent and Jon’s still hard. 

Trembling, Jon grapples for Theon’s hair, dragging him back into a kiss. 

“Theon,” he whines into his mouth, because it’s the only thing he can think to say, his body tipping over the edge as Theon kisses him back, lazy and dragging. Theon’s hand still slides over them, slow and heavy as their seed mingles on his hand. “ _Theon._ ”

Jon is still trembling when Theon’s hand falls away, and he can see Theon smiling down at him as they both struggle to catch their breath. The smile seems so honest that Jon feels a lump form in his throat. Not for the first time, Jon wonders if Theon may love him.

“You’re alright?” Theon squints, noticing something forlorn about Jon’s face.

But Jon only nods.

“Did I say something — you liked all that, what I said?”

Refraining from speech, Jon nods again. Theon tilts his head, considering Jon’s cryptic silence. It isn’t the first time Jon has had to insist he’s fine despite tears. 

After a moment, Theon sighs. Perhaps he’s disbelieving, but he won’t argue.

“Alright, I’m — I’m going to wash up. I’ll be right back, but then you’ve got to get some sleep.”

Jon doesn’t want him to move. He’s so warm, and looking at Jon as if he loves him, and Jon only shakes his head. “No, I — let me.”

“Let you what?”

Theon barely has the time to ask before Jon lifts Theon’s filthy hand to his mouth and wraps his lips around his fingers. Shame burns in him as the taste hits his tongue. He shouldn’t want this, shouldn’t be so desperate. But they taste the same, as Jon had suspected, and the knowledge of it boils Jon’s blood under his skin.

“Drowned _fuck,_ Jon.”

He always sounds so proud, whenever Jon manages to surprise him. It churns inside Jon’s heart, the admiration, an excited thrumming. Jon licks down Theon’s palm, greedy for the taste of them, for the attention. It glows just beneath Jon’s skin. Theon bows over him as Jon cleans his hand. He can feel Theon’s eyes boring into him, and shudders when Theon kisses his forehead. The warmth of Theon’s breath ghosts over his face, steadying, and gentle. Jon’s eyes slide shut.

In a voice that barely seems aware of itself, Theon whispers into Jon’s hair, “Good boy, Jon. That’s — _gods_ that’s it.”

Shivering, Jon doesn’t want it to end. He laves his tongue over Theon’s fingers long after the salt of them has left his skin, until Theon gently pulls his hand away to tuck Jon into his chest. Jon whimpers, needy, but Theon shushes him quietly.

“Good boy, Jon,” he repeats drowsily. “That’s it, such a good boy.” He sounds so tender, his lips brushing over Jon’s temple. “There’s a good lad, it’s alright.”

“Theon —” Gods, he wants him to stay.

“Shh, hush, it’s alright. Sleep now, Snow. C’mon.”

Jon clenches a hand tight in Theon’s tunic, blinking back treacherous tears before Theon can see them. He hates that it makes him cry, that Theon could ever make him cry. 

But he calms himself, pushes it from his mind. Tries not to spoil what he is granted. As he falls asleep, fingers toying with his hair, he tells himself Theon wants to stay just as much as Jon wishes he could.

In the morning, he wakes alone, swaddled snug in his furs. Theon’s doing. Sometimes, on chilly nights, he bundles the blankets and wolfskins around Jon when he leaves, to keep him from waking to the cold as he sneaks away. Sometimes, Theon will complain of a time that Jon doesn’t remember, waking mewling before Theon could leave his room. Often moans about how late it had been, then, and how he’d almost fallen asleep in Jon’s bed for all his waiting.

Silently, Jon wishes he had, especially now, with the chilled morning sun pouring light through his window to remind him his loneliness. He knows Theon could never sleep beside him through the night, that it would quite possibly be both their heads if Lady Stark were to hear of what the ward and the bastard got up to together under her roof. Her stern, unforgiving, southern gods and insinuations concerning the safety of her children would be all the pretense she’d need to be rid of them both. Still, Jon wonders how different he’d feel, waking up to see Theon’s face in the new light of day. 

When Jon finally rouses from his chambers, he notices that Theon acts strangely, throughout the day. They are not often alone, tailed constantly by Stark children or Jory or the maester as they go about their duties and daily lessons, but Theon speaks to Jon directly, regardless, looking at him with a playful smirk.

When they spar together in the yard with Robb and Ser Rodrik, Theon parries a blow with enough force to send Jon reeling, but before Jon can lose his balance, Theon’s hand snaps out to steady him.

“Alright there, Snow?”

Jon stares at him for a moment, too awestruck to speak. Theon does not touch him, when they are not alone. He swallows, feeling exposed. It feels suddenly as if all the world knows what they’ve done. 

When Jon finally finds it in him to nod, Theon ruffles his hair. 

“Close your mouth, then. You look like a dying trout.”

Jon would think himself going insane, were he not to notice Robb gaping at them. It’s painted all over Jon’s face, he’s sure of it, but when Robb notices Jon looking, he doesn’t seem to see. _Enjoy it,_ Robb seems to say with an easy sway of his shoulders. _You know how fickle Theon’s moods can be._

At dusk, Theon finds Jon toying with a stray cat in the yard, and scares the poor thing away with a frantic wave of his hands. 

When Jon watches the cat dart away with a frown, Theon says casually, “I wanted to speak with you.”

“Alone, I suppose,” Jon says with an annoyed grunt, watching after the cat in the direction it had run. 

He isn’t expecting Theon to laugh. The mirth lights up his face, and Jon’s heart trips in his chest. He’s so warm like this, Jon forgets for a moment that he is not always kind. 

Finally, Theon speaks. “Listen, Snow, you — what I said...” 

He leaves it at that for a moment, uncharacteristically timid. Usually, he doesn’t like to speak of what they do in the night with any sort of importance. He rarely brings up such things at all outside of when they’re together. 

“Last night?” Jon asks. Theon makes a face before nodding. Jon shouldn’t make specifications, either. “What of it?”

“Did you like all that, what I said? Would you— you want to do all that?”

It’s a strange hook in Jon’s gut, that he’s asking that here and now, before the sun has even fully set, when anyone could walk past them, in the yard. 

Gulping, Jon nods.

Theon doesn’t. “Good.”

He turns on his heel without another word, and leaves Jon standing struck alone in the grass.

Nothing more comes of it until three days later when Theon leans close to him at breakfast, before the Stark children have all taken their seats. 

“Be dressed to ride, come nightfall,” he murmurs near Jon’s ear.

“What for?” Jon asks. 

Theon smiles at him. “We’re going into town, you and I. To see Ros.”

Jon nearly drops his knife. Cold sweat beads on Jon’s neck, an unformed sort of panic twitching at his chest. He doesn’t have the chance to respond, before Theon leaves, disappears from his side to take his seat next to Robb. 

Right away, Jon is sure he’s misheard. He blinks rapidly a few times, trying to refocus on his food, but the distraction is too great. It had been a fantasy, surely. Theon does not pay him any attention, when someone else is watching. He would not be seen wrapped around Jon in sight of anyone, not even a brothel girl. Certainly not his favourite one.

Appetite gone, Jon spends most of breakfast staring at his untouched plate. He glances occasionally at Theon, who pays him no mind until handing off his plate to the serving girl, when he looks up at Jon and winks.

It’s a joke. It must be. A great big joke at his expense. A chance for Theon to finally get one over on the bastard once and for all. Theon only means to humiliate him. As the morning goes on, Theon ignores him, busy with his daily tasks, and Jon feels anxiety clench at his throat. What could he mean to do? Will Jon dress for riding only to open his door to Theon announcing to half the castle why he’s dressed to ride so late?

No, Jon tells himself, that doesn’t make much sense. There’s nothing damning in taking a mount into the woods at dusk. No one would believe Theon, just because he was dressed to ride by light of the moon.

As night touches the sky, Jon dresses to ride as he was told, pulling out his boots and heavy cloak, but his hands are shaking so hard it takes twice as long to strap his leathers. When Jon is finally ready he takes a seat on his bed, and realizes suddenly what Theon had meant to do.

He’s not coming at all. The humiliation is Jon’s alone, sitting waiting in his chambers for something that will never happen. Jon takes a deep breath to keep the itch of fear from reaching the corners of his eyes. If Theon chooses not to show, he’ll never know that Jon waited a little longer.

By the time Theon knocks on his door, panic is a lump swelling in Jon’s throat, twisting hard and gnarled with relief that he knocked at all. He straightens his back as he opens the door.

Theon takes one look at him and frowns.

“Gods be good, Snow.”

“What?” Jon’s voice comes out a humiliating hoarse squeak, and Theon rolls his eyes.

“Come now, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he says with a sigh, “I’m coming with you, this time. Is there really any reason to be so afraid of whores?”

“I’m — I’m not _afraid,_ ” Jon manages, swallowing. “I just —”

Theon frowns, and Jon trails off, feeling judged and foolish. At the look on his face, Jon expects him to say something scathing. Tell him he’s a bastard and a coward, or to stay behind and Theon will go on alone, in no need of him. The idea tightens Jon’s throat, and he struggles to gasp a breath. Perhaps if Theon wants to lay with another along with Ros he can just go find one of the boywhores already in the brothel. Surely a paid boywhore would be better at anything they’d do together than Jon would be. Shyness claws at Jon’s throat, and he drops his chin, staring at his boots. Perhaps he should just change for bed and hide under his furs.

“Here,” is what Theon says instead, letting himself into Jon’s room with a gentle push on Jon’s shoulder. Without asking, he shuts the door behind them. “Perhaps it’ll help if your hair doesn’t look so bloody stupid.”

It isn’t funny, not really, but panic bubbles into a laugh as it leaves Jon’s mouth, loud and somewhat hysterical. Theon only glances at him, but a smirk plays on his lips before he turns his attention to his belt.

“C’mere, Snow,” he orders, fishing a ribbon out of a pouch on his belt. “Turn around.”

Jon does as he’s told, and his heart jumps into his throat when he feels Theon’s nimble fingers  
comb through his hair.

“I know her seeing you isn’t the point,” Theon says playfully, and Jon blushes as he realizes Theon remembers his nameday almost as well as Jon does, “but if I’m going to be looking at you too, I should get what I paid for.”

A hot stone drops into Jon’s stomach, and his breath leaves him. Theon’s fingers are practiced at tying Jon’s hair into a knot at the back of his head. The sensation of Theon’s nails along Jon’s scalp is soothing. He doesn’t often pull his hair back. Robb will tease him when he lets it grow too long, wild like a child’s, but it’s a comfort, to have it shrouding his face. As a young boy, a pretty serving girl had sweetly complimented his hair and it had made him feel proud. He’s always liked his hair. It’s striking and dark like his father’s, and a solidly Stark trait, unquestionable. But he likes it most when Theon’s hands are tangled in it, even as he teases him for keeping it too long and unkempt. Jon doesn’t see what Theon is doing, but the burning heat of embarrassment on his neck relents as Theon scoops the curls up from his nape and ties the strap around the tight little knot of hair.

“There. Now turn around, let me see you.”

Jon turns to look at him, catching an instant of fondness in his eyes. His smile turns sharp as a blade, but Jon still feels a thrumming under Theon’s skin. He won’t share his excitement. He is not like Jon. But Jon feels it as Theon reaches up to pat his cheek with his practiced grin.

“There, now,” Theon says lightly, “that’s much better. You look a proper man grown. Dashing, even. She’ll never know you’ve not been with a woman before.”

“She already knows that,” Jon frowns, poking at the band in his hair. He wonders if he looks like his father, with his hair like this.

Chuckling, Theon drops his hand. “Well, she’d never guess. You don’t look quite so bloody pale, now. Do you feel better?”

Jon felt better the moment Theon’s hands were on him, but he won’t admit that. He nods, trying to seem flippant. His heart is thudding so hard in his chest Jon is sure his ribs will crack, but Theon smiles at him with a wink. He does feel better. Theon could get a boywhore, or anyone else he likes, but instead he’s bringing Jon.

“Alright then, c’mon.” Theon’s breathing seems quicker, almost as if he’s nervous. Jon wishes he would say it, if he were. He feels foolish, being so nervous all alone. “I’ve already got the mounts readied. Let’s be on our way.”

“Do — did anyone see you? Do the stablehands know?”

Theon rolls his eyes. “Isn’t it exhausting, worrying so much?”

Jon bites the inside of his cheek, to keep from pointing out that Theon hasn’t answered him.

The ride there is quiet. Different from like it had been on his nameday. Not tense, like the ride back to the castle had been, but the air around them feels cool and light, and a low breeze rustles at Jon’s hood loud enough to drown the sounds of the woods around them. He’s too nervous to speak, but the fact that Theon is quiet as well worries him. Theon is always talking. What could he possibly mean to keep secret?

Perhaps it’s all a ploy to be rid of him, finally. Jon Snow is the single fault in his father’s honor, the only enemy to Robb’s claim to the throne of winter. Perhaps Theon’s never truly wanted him at all, and just wishes to trade him for coppers, be rid of his competition so that he may be the only confidant to Robb.

Jon swallows down his panic. That’s mad. It isn’t true. It can’t be.

“It’s a rather warm night,” Theon tells him, slicing through his panic. Jon had barely noticed they had made it into town, both their horses slowed to a lazy amble. “You don’t need your hood up like that. You look like a crook.”

Jon frowns. “What?”

“No one cares that you’re here, Snow. But with your hood up like that it looks like you’ve got worse business at the brothel than just sex for coppers.”

Pouting, Jon shakes the hood from his head. 

Theon winks at him. “There you are. No need for shyness. No one ‘round here hasn’t been in the brothel for the same reasons we’re going.”

Jon waits until they dismount before questioning him. “Is it common, what we’re doing, then? Boys and girls both, like this?”

“Common enough for anyone with the coin for it,” Theon snorts.

Jon’s afraid to ask, but the question falls out of his mouth before he can stop himself. “Have you done this before?”

Theon shrugs, taking Jon’s wrist in his hand. “Must you ask me that about everything?”

He hasn’t, really. But Jon takes that as a yes. He’s not sure of the emotion that clenches in his chest as he decides it. Somewhat relief, somewhat jealousy.

The brothel is different, in the night. The torches hanging from the walls or standing beside the windows cast most of the light, giving the narrow hall a strange orange glow it doesn’t have when the sun lights up through the blue muslin. The shadows are different, eerie. There are far more people here, than there were the afternoon of his nameday. Jon supposes that should be expected, but it unnerves him nonetheless, and he endeavours to keep away from the bodies passing them in the hall. He itches to pull his hood back over his head, but it would look absurd indoors like this. He keeps his eyes down while Theon leads him forward, fingers wrapped around his wrist.

“Theon,” he says as they reach Ros’s ironwood door. “Theon, wait.”

Abruptly, Theon stops. “Gods, Snow, have you already changed your mind?”

Jon shakes his head, but his heart jumps in his throat. Would Theon hate him, if he did? What if he does change his mind? What would Theon say to him? He can’t bear to look at him, suddenly. “No, I haven’t, I — I just…”

To his great surprise, Theon drops to one knee down in front of him, looking up to meet his eyes from where they’re pointed on the floor.

“Alright, Snow, what is it? Are you still worried about fathering a bastard? I told you, you don’t have to —”

“Am I a whore?”

It staggers Theon a bit, and he blinks. It’s obvious he doesn’t mean to, when he laughs. “What?”

Jon hadn’t meant to say it, but he can’t stop it now. The panic bubbles up from his chest tenfold, and he blinks back the threat of tears. 

“Is this something — is this something whores do? Is that why you— you picked me? Because I am… is it because I’m just like this? Are you just going to — is that what Lady Catelyn wants? To sell me to a brothel like — like my mother —”

“Hey, hey,” Theon’s hands are cool when they cup either side of Jon’s face. “What are you talking about? None of that, Jon, it’s alright.” He sits up a little straighter, closer to Jon’s face, meeting him eye-to-eye. “Don’t be stupid. If Lady Catelyn ever tries something as daft as selling you to a brothel she’ll have to answer to your lord father, and to Robb, and to the whole Iron Fleet, alright? You’re not going anywhere.”

He’s smiling a little, like it’s all a joke. Jon wants to be irritated, but despite himself, he is calmed by Theon’s words. And at the look on Theon’s face, he realizes how ridiculous his worries are. Of course his father and brother would never let him be sold to a brothel or sent away. Of course Lady Catelyn would never try something so cruel and underhanded. It was foolish to think otherwise. And Theon would send his whole army to keep him.

“You’re no whore, Snow, and I won’t be leaving without you. You hear?”

Jon smiles. The panic floods out of him. 

Still, Theon presses, “You’re alright? To go on? Listen — if you don’t want —”

Hurriedly, Jon shakes his head. “No I — I’m fine. I want to. I’m sorry, I just…”

He trails off, and for a moment, Theon waits. When Jon doesn’t say anything else, he kisses his forehead before he stands upright. “Aye, it’s alright. You’re just nervous. We’ll sort that out. This will be good for you, Snow. Relax you a bit.”

Jon reaches for his hand, but feels silly, standing outside a whore’s room, and lets it hang awkwardly between them for a moment. Theon notices out of the corner of his eye and takes hold of Jon’s elbow, steadying. It’s not as tender as lacing their fingers together, but the hold is solid, and Jon takes a breath as Theon gives a quick little warning rap on the door and steps inside.


	2. Chapter 2

“Evening, Ros,” Theon boasts as he glides into the room with total familiarity, a smug hint to his voice as he swings the heavy door shut behind the two of them. “Not too worn out by the day, I’d hope?”

Ros smiles at them as they enter, seated neatly on the edge of her richly-draped bed, her pale ankles crossed. She’s wearing the black and gold mohair robe she’d donned on Jon’s nameday, but it hangs open immodestly, displaying her inviting curves and heavy breasts. Despite himself, Jon stares. They lock eyes, and she smiles warmly, and he looks away quickly. His eyes scan the rough wooden shelves full of glass vials containing strange coloured oils. A small censer dish of incense smokes on the rough wooden bedside table. Yellow candles are burning next to it, casting the room in a reddish glow. Daring a glance back at Ros, she’s still looking right at him. Twisting a lock of hair around her finger, she returns Theon’s confident smirk with a directness Jon’s never seen on a woman. 

“Not a man in all the north can tire me too much for a night with you, Lord Greyjoy,” she answers, with an inviting drawl.

Jon gapes a little at her candor. All Theon does is laugh. 

It surprises Jon, that he would appreciate such directness. He’s never known Theon to allow such defamations — especially not from some lowborn with no standing. But when Jon looks up at Theon’s face, his grin is genuine. He likes this, for her to return his barbs, to treat him with familiarity. Jon wonders if that’s something reserved for Ros alone. Theon has never seemed to appreciate such an attitude from anyone in the castle.

It’s not just Theon that makes it strange to hear them talk as friends. Against his will, Jon recalls when last he’d seen her. Ros had been so collected and professional when speaking to Jon on his nameday, even as she kissed and undressed him. 

How long did it take for her, he wonders, to peel back Theon’s defensive shell?

“Aye, well, there’s two of us here now, and we have the whole night to spare. We might wear you out yet,” Theon tells her, giving Jon a gentle push forward. They both appraise him, like a mare at market. He likes it, even though he feels he shouldn’t. “He may not look like it, but he’s quite something, once he starts.”

Ros grins. “Is that so? Quite high praise from one with such refined tastes as yourself, m’lord. I didn’t get the pleasure, when we last met.”

“Apologies, my lady,” Jon answers quietly, glancing at his feet.

Theon and Ros both laugh. It’s unnerving, how similar they sound. 

“No need for apologies, lordling,” Ros tells him gently. She still has such a stunning smile. “Nor any titles, neither. No ladies here. I look quite forward to what you have to offer me.”

“He’s quite the raw talent,” Theon answers for him, his hand landing on the back of Jon’s neck, “but terribly unpracticed. I’ve been breaking him in, though he’s still rough and green. Helpless, really. I’ll not have you talk of stealing him away for you lot here in the brothel. I may share now and again, but I’ve laid claim to him. He’s no boywhore, he’s mine.”

Theon’s grip tightens on his nape for an instant, and Jon swallows, his mouth dry. He’d felt foolish, admitting his silly fears to Theon. But this isn’t the Theon who mocks him. This Theon protects him. This Theon wants him, even with someone else watching.

Ros seems to think nothing of it. “Wouldn’t dream of it, m’lord.” 

“Little fool doesn’t trust your moon tea, either.” Theon rakes his hand over Jon’s scalp as he speaks, tugging on his tied back hair, and it pulls Jon’s attention from the room to Theon’s face. “So he won’t put his cock inside you. Doesn’t want a bastard on his conscience.”

Ros doesn’t seem all too surprised by that, either. Perhaps he’s not the only one who doesn’t trust the chance of a child to the midwife’s herbs. Instead she looks at Jon and tells him coyly, “Well, that’s not a problem. I trust you’ll get imaginative, then, will you, Snow?”

Jon doesn’t expect to be addressed. He swallows hard, and looks back at Theon. But Theon isn’t looking at him, instead smiling at Ros. 

“He’s also not the only one with a cock to go inside you,” Theon says with a wink. “Rest assured, I can do whatever he’s not willing.”

“Oh? No worry over bastards yourself, Greyjoy?” Ros asks teasingly.

Theon’s only answer is a snort of derision. 

Jon doesn’t quite know the rules of the Iron Islands. All Theon’s talk of salt and rock wives, he wonders if there even _are_ highborn bastards, on Pyke. Maybe if Theon were to get Ros pregnant, he would merely take her as a salt wife. Is that permitted? Would she do that? Has she ever said it, while they’re tangled together, like Jon had done? 

Ros gets to her feet and pads over to Theon. When she glances at Jon, it’s only to wink at him before she drapes her arms over Theon’s shoulders. 

“Does he want to watch, then?” she asks Theon, pressing against him.

Jon takes a few steps back, toward the door. Part of him would like to watch, the way he had when Theon took the serving girl in his bed. The both of them are beautiful, and now he can watch unabashed. But when Theon had babbled out his fantasy while holding Jon amidst the furs in his bed, it had been the other way around. The idea of watching at the side now churns slightly sour in his stomach. Would they rather he weren’t here?

Before the panic retakes him, Theon settles the matter. “Oh I’m sure he’d like to watch. He’s quite the shy little thing. But I’ve got other plans for him. If he watches anything at all it will be from between your legs.”

“Oh, is that so?” she asks with a hint of disbelief.

When she looks at Jon now, he’s not got anything to say. He stares down at his boots, embarrassed. He should say something. He needs to say something.

“Come here, Snow,” Theon breaks the silence, motioning for him. 

Jon looks back at Ros now stripping the open robe from her shoulders, but she only shrugs and gives him a nod, allowing him. Perhaps Theon has done this with her before, with other boys. Jon tries not to think about it. He studies Theon’s face as he unfastens Jon’s cloak. That doesn’t matter now. Now, Theon is with him. 

“This isn’t some two-copper fuck in a back alley, Snow. Ros is ours for the evening. You’ve got to take all this off. Let’s get you undressed.”

Theon’s hands unhooking his doublet turns Jon’s heartbeat featherlight. He blinks, head swimming. “What — what about you?”

“Gods, you’re impatient,” Theon says with a smirk. Jon can’t tell if it’s his face turning pink, or if perhaps the soft candlelight only bathes the whole room in scarlet. “We’ll get to that. First let’s get all this off you, alright?”

The hem of Jon’s tunic briefly blocks Jon’s vision as Theon gives it a gentle tug over his head. Jon stumbles a little as Theon’s face blinks back into sight, and Theon holds him steady with a chuckle.

“You’re alright?”

Jon nods, and Theon kneels to unlace Jon’s boots. It’s an odd thing, having him bowed like this. He’s never towered over Theon before, and now he’s done it twice within an hour. His fingers are delicate on Jon’s clothes, softer than they were when they laid together in the godswood. He’s being so careful. Jon’s heart swells in his chest, moved, pounding with excitement. It hadn’t been like this on his nameday, shaky and nervous. It hasn’t been this way before at all. Theon’s never been so sweet. Jon would have never expected him to be this way when in front of another. 

Pride tingling at the back of his neck, Jon hopes Ros is watching. He wants her to see the way Theon dotes on him. 

“Theon…”

Theon looks up at him, eyes green and gentle. His hands pause at the drawstrings of Jon’s breeches, and Jon realizes with a jolt that no matter what he says, Theon will do it for him. He could beg to go home and Theon would grab his doublet and tunic and bid Ros goodbye. It makes Jon’s vision blur at the edges, and he presses his weight into Theon’s shoulder to steady himself.

“I want to see you, too.”

Theon’s mouth quirks into a smile, relieved that his plans for the night are not undone. It isn’t Jon’s imagination that tells him Theon would leave for him. He would have. He _would have._

“Aye, you’ve mentioned, you greedy thing.” For an instant, it seems as if Theon will kiss him, but he doesn’t. Only winks at him, and stands to unhook his own doublet, doing as he’s asked. “You’ve seen me plenty. I’m nothing new any longer. Look at Ros.”

When Jon turns to look at Ros, she’s seated once again on the various furs and silks that cover her bed. Her black robe is discarded, hung on a brass hook beside her door, and she sits with her legs crossed at the knee, her breasts bared in full view as she leans back on an open palm. It still startles him to see her so unashamed. Her gorgeous red hair is held up high by a jade pin, save the one curl she’s teasing with her free hand, draped down the line of her slender pale neck. She must’ve pulled it up while Jon wasn’t watching her. When Jon looks at her, she smiles. It makes the hair at the back of Jon’s neck prickle with excitement and his mouth go dry. 

“Was beginning to think you’d only bought the time to have me sit here and be jealous, m’lords,” she says with a playful wink. Her teasing is much sweeter than Theon’s, and Jon smiles. “Come here, Snow. Sit beside me.”

Jon glances back at Theon, but he’s still fussing with his clothing. 

“Lord Greyjoy’ll join us in a moment,” Ros assures him. “I’d like to pick up where we left off on your nameday, first, if you don’t mind. Let me get the measure of you.”

Blushing, Jon turns back to her. She’s leaning forward now, her head resting in her hand. Her fiery hair curls delicately around her face, ruby bright in the firelight. He edges toward her, fighting the urge to cover himself under her knowing eyes. When he’s crept close enough, Ros reaches out to take his hand.

He remembers this, the thundering panic in his ears as another person held his hand, her beautiful naked curves making the world fade. He remembers the fear gripping him, but before it returns, Ros squeezes his hand, and he relaxes. 

“Do you think our Lord Greyjoy would like it if you kissed me?”

Swallowing, Jon glances back at Theon for an answer. He’s undressed now, leaning against Ros’s plain wooden vanity with his arms folded. Theon is the only man Jon knows who seems as comfortable naked as he does fully clothed.

“I would,” Theon answers into the silence.

Jon’s heart is pumping fire now. Hesitantly, he leans forward, but he doesn’t feel as bold as he does when he’s with Theon. He freezes, anxious, and Ros gives him a tender smile before closing the distance between them.

It had felt good before, letting her kiss him. She’s so sweet to him. Knows without trying exactly what he needs. But something drags heavy and burning in his bones as it happens now, knowing Theon is watching them. Is he jealous? Of Jon, or of his favourite whore. Either excites him, to be able to wield an ounce of that power back against him. Jon grabs for Ros’s hair and tugs impatiently at her curls, crawling into her lap to feel her skin against his. Her body is soft and smooth, different from what he’s grown used to. He likes how it feels when she moves against him, surges up to meet him, and the warmth that pools in his belly when she lets out a surprised little hum into the kiss.

Perhaps he’s surprising her, too. Jon likes that.

When they break apart, Ros grins at him. “My, my. Not quite so shy anymore, are you, Snow?”

Theon chuckles. It’s perhaps the first time he’s noticed Ros’s nickname for him. Would he know that Jon had asked for that? Jon’s eyes dart to Theon, but Theon only gestures toward Ros the instant their eyes meet. He’d wanted a show, and Jon isn’t giving it to him. 

Swallowing hard, Jon turns back to Ros. He shuffles off her lap, seated beside her on the bed, and swallows hard.

He has to clear his throat to find his voice, “Lie — lie back. Please.”

Ros’s eyebrows quirk up, and she smiles. Jon’s mouth feels as if he’s coated it with sand. But he has done this before, after a fashion. It had been different, with Theon, but he’d been good at it. Theon has said so. He can do that with Ros, and forestall his fears of bastardry. As he kneels between Ros’s legs, Theon’s hand suddenly grips the back of his neck. Sturdy but careful. Jon is sure Theon can feel his pulse racing under his fingers. He leans close to Jon’s ear.

“Bit different, that, when you’re with girls. More skill is needed, can’t just lap at it like an eager mutt.” His lips brush against Jon’s skin. “Attend to her. Slow and firm. Sign your name, with your tongue, even. She likes that.”

Ros giggles, a soft, warm ring like a bell. Jon glances up at her, his face going hot.

“Is that what you do that turns my knees weak?” Ros asks with a smirk. “Surprised I never guessed.” 

Theon returns her smile. Jon can tell he’s proud, knowing he’s had an effect on her. 

“But then,” she adds with a coy smile, “if that’s what it is you do, wouldn’t our Snow have to sign _your_ name, m’lord?”

Theon squeezes his grip on Jon’s neck, and Jon feels his own cock twitch against the bed furs. 

“I — I’ll do that,” Jon whispers hoarsely. The idea makes him dizzy. He already feels it on his tongue, the weight of Theon’s name. “If that’s what she likes then I want… I want to do that.”

They both look at him, each taking in the sight of him, and Jon is shocked to find it enthralling. Theon doesn’t remove his hand from the nape of Jon’s neck. He presses down with his palm.

“Do it, then.”

Jon’s heart is in his throat as Ros reclines, spreading her legs to him. Reactively, he looks away, can’t help it. It still feels so wrong. To stare at a woman so openly. He’d seen glimpses of girls this way before, but never quite like this. Ros sits back patiently, but Theon’s nails dig into Jon’s skin. His mouth is close to Jon’s ear again, breath heavy against the side of his face.

“Go on, Jon. You’ll like it. Girls taste better than boys do.”

Jon expects him to pull back, then, but instead Theon leans over him and sinks his teeth into the soft flesh of Jon’s ear. Startled, Jon squeaks. His body is frozen in place, his eyes trained between Ros’s legs, and Theon’s sigh gusts out against Jon’s neck.

“Here, this part’s no different.”

Without warning, Theon takes his hand, cupping his fingers over the back of it and running Jon’s palm up over Ros’s leg. Jon swallows, feeling the hair stand up along Ros’s thighs under his touch. He guides Jon’s hand up, up to her hip and they both knead softly at her flesh there, earning them a charming giggle. After a little urging, Theon moves their hands across her belly, and then down between her legs and both she and Jon gasp. Before he can look back, Theon shifts behind him onto the bed, pressing his bare chest against Jon’s back. He’s so warm. Has he always been so warm?

“It’s alright, Jon,” he purrs against Jon’s neck. His voice sounds deeper, breath hot on Jon’s skin. “Go on, don’t keep her waiting.”

“I’m quite a bit more patient than you, m’lord,” Ros tells him delicately. Jon hears Theon huff behind him. “Come here, Snow, let me help.”

She takes his chin in her hand and pulls him forward, into a kiss. It’s inviting and calm, nothing like the way Theon kisses him, as if he’s a drowning man. She kisses lazily, slow and careful, plays him easily until Jon feels it sink into his skin.

“There now,” she whispers against his mouth. She hasn’t pulled away, not quite. The hand at his chin slides up to cup his face. “You already know how.”

Heat bursts up Jon’s neck, and Ros gives his shoulder an encouraging push. He feels Theon’s hands press against his back, his neck; leading him downward. Jon’s heart is in his throat as he sinks down to taste her.

Above him, Ros lets out a soft little gasp, and Jon’s skin glows along the edge of pleasure. It’s true, she tastes far different from Theon, lighter, more delicate. As directed, he traces the folds of her, finding a soft, firm nub of flesh. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to focus, remembers what Theon told him, tracing the shapes of letters with his tongue. Theon’s name, again and again. Faster, then slow. Ros’s breathing staggers, her breasts heaving as she inhales. It makes his head spin, that they both know what he’s doing.

“Tell him, if he’s doing well,” Theon says, his voice low overhead. “He likes that.”

Ros lets out a little huff of a laugh, strained along the edges. “Not — not difficult to remember.”

Theon’s hand tightens briefly in Jon’s hair, tugging on the knot he’d tied at the back of his head. “He’s a natural at cock. Took it almost as well as you do.”

When Jon moans, Ros echos him. He’s not sure if it’s the feel of his mouth, or what Theon has said. He groans again, just to see, and Ros’s thighs tremble against his face. 

“Aye,” she says breathlessly, “not half bad at this, either.”

It shivers down Jon’s spine to hear, and Theon sinks his nails into the back of Jon’s neck. “Tell him, then. He likes it if you talk.” Fingernails scratch down his back, light and teasing. “He likes to hear what a — good boy he is. Don’t you, Jon?”

It’s lightning in his blood, and Jon whines. He can’t nod, and moves his tongue faster. _Theon Theon Theon._ Ros groans, dropping back from her elbows. One of her hands snakes out to find Jon’s hair, and dainty clipped nails dig into his scalp.

“Gods, you’re doing good, love,” Ros tells him, her voice soft. “You’re so good, m’lord. Could teach — Greyjoy a thing or two.”

“Is that right?” Theon’s voice cuts into the thick air around them. 

Skin hot, Jon shudders. 

He expects Theon to sound somewhat bristled, but instead his voice is syrupy and proud. It squeezes tight against Jon’s heart. Jon surges forward, wanting more. Wanting to prove he can do better. It’s easier on his jaw, to be with a girl this way. He breathes easily as he slides his tongue through the warm folds of her skin. _Greyjoy Greyjoy Greyjoy._

Ros yelps, back arching, and Jon feels Theon shift alongside him. He lifts his head just barely, curious to see, and his heart flutters in his chest at the sight of Theon stretched out on the bed beside her, leaning down and claiming her mouth, jaw working as he cups the back of her head. 

Ros melts against him, moaning openly into the kiss. She traces Theon’s cheek with her free hand.

Theon is forceful, commanding, wraps and arm around her body and holds her still against him, and tension seems to pour off of Ros as he kisses her. Jon whimpers. They’re beautiful, naked and strong and desperate together, and Jon feels pride swell in his chest. He drives his tongue faster, jaw burning, and Ros whines, surges against Theon’s chest.

“Tell him,” Theon growls as he moves his attention to her throat. “He’s a shy little thing. He wants to know he’s done well. Wants to know you like it.”

“It’s so good, m’lord,” she says, breathless, eyes shut and her brows furrowed in exquisite agony, and for a moment, Jon isn’t sure if she’s talking to him or to Theon until she adds, “He knows just where — _gods_ —”

Ros’s heels plant into Jon’s back, and Jon gasps against her before he can refocus. Ros doesn’t seem to notice, slumped against Theon with her legs trembling. Theon’s expression is torn between awed and smug. 

His voice is almost too quiet to hear when Theon asks Ros, “Do you want him to stop, darling?”

Ros shakes her head, and Theon grins, eyes sparkling in the low light. 

“Tell — tell him, then.”

“Don’t — don’t stop, Snow,” Ros recites instantly. 

Jon feels a strange sort of power light up his spine. It’s him doing this to her, but not him alone. Theon controls her, too; and she likes it. His jaw is tingling now, going numb much later than it had with Theon. Desperate, he grabs for purchase against Ros’s thigh, and she shivers.

“Gods,” she sighs, Theon leaning down to nip her throat again, “gods, don’t stop. That’s it. It’s so — so good.”

Whining, Jon ruts against the bed under his knees, but the soft pile of furs and silks aren’t enough, and it makes him squirm. He needs more. Whimpering, Jon glances up to see Theon’s eyes on him as he strokes himself lazily. The sight makes his blood boil, and a chill rolls hard down Jon’s spine.

“Is all this not enough for you, Snow? Do you — want more?”

Keening, Jon nods, forgetting himself and what he’s doing. He feels filthy and greedy, but Theon’s eyes are shining like seaglass, swallowing Jon whole, and Jon hasn’t got it in him to lie. His heartbeat is thunder in his ears, and he stops what he’s doing to pull away from Ros and gasp for a moment’s breath.

“Oh —” Ros whimpers above him, “Oh, m’lord, please don’t — don’t stop.”

It makes him weak, the softness of her voice. She’s pleading, begging, and Jon feels a surge of affection for her. He wants to do everything she asks. He leans down to continue, but Theon’s voice is heavy and loud in contrast to her own. 

“Not so patient any longer, are you?”

“No, m’lord.”

“Go on then, Snow,” Theon tells him with a wink as his fingers trail over Ros’s chest, teasing. “Don’t torture the poor girl.”

“I — I want…” Jon keens, but Theon interrupts him.

“I know what you want, Snow,” he says without looking up from Ros’s breasts. “I’ll take care of you soon enough. Tend to the lady.”

Perhaps it will be sooner, if Jon does as he’s told. He bows between Ros’s legs again, his tongue laving heavier as he struggles to sign Theon’s name again and again.

“There, such a good boy,” Theon croons over him. “Tell me, Ros, how do you think he should be rewarded for all his hard work?”

Ros’s answer is breathless. If it is any words at all, Jon cannot understand them. Theon continues on, as if she’d not bothered to speak.

“I could take him in my mouth, but I’m not near as talented as he is, as you said.” Jon groans, and Ros whimpers. “Besides, that would take him off you, and I don’t think you want that.”

“No, m’lord —” Ros whines then.

“Aye, I suppose I can fuck him like a dog.” Jon’s chest seizes, excited, and Theon drawls on. “Though he simpers and pines when he can’t see me, you’d have to be pretty for him, give him something to watch.”

Jon’s head spins. That Theon would admit such a thing, unashamed. Says it of Jon as if it’s something beautiful. Dizzy, Jon looks through his lashes to see Ros nodding mindlessly in agreement. She’s breathtaking, and Theon watches her so fondly. Shivering, Jon wonders if perhaps they love each other, both too stubborn to admit such things.

As if Theon knows what he’s thinking, his eyes slide to meet Jon’s. “Would you like that, Snow?”

Theon’s hand stretches out to trail down Jon’s spine, fingers slick with an oil that smells of exotic spice. He must’ve been using it to slick himself, a moment ago.

“Ros promises to be pretty for you, don’t you Ros?”

“Yes, m’lord,” Ros mumbles, her voice hitching. 

Jon’s eyes roll back as they fall shut. It feels safe, doing what Theon asks. He wonders if perhaps Ros feels it, too, when Theon orders her. He likes the idea of the two of them doing anything Theon asked of them. Theon’s hand knots in Jon’s hair and lifts him upright on his knees, away from Ros to lift his head to meet his eyes. Ros still keens impatiently.

“You want me to fuck you, Snow?”

Jon nods. “Yes —” _m’lord_ catches on his tongue, and he swallows, the taste of Ros thick down his throat. “Yes. Do it. Please.”

Theon looks at him as if he caught what Jon only just stopped himself from saying. His eyes are dark and burning, and he smiles, stroking his thumb along Jon’s cheek.

“Don’t stop what you’re doing for Ros,” he tells him. “You’ll shatter her, if you do. Just keep your eyes on her.”

Jon nods. Behind Theon, splayed on her back, Ros whimpers.

“M’lord, please” she whispers, “thought you said it was bad form to — keep a girl waiting.”

“Aye,” Theon chuckles without looking at her, leaning forward to place a kiss on Jon’s slack mouth. “Get to it, Jon. She’s begging you, now.”

As he bows back down between Ros’s legs, he remembers the way Theon had keened for it, hands twisted in his furs as he rocked down Jon’s throat. Theon was not paid to like Jon’s mouth on him. Theon has had so many different mouths on him it shouldn’t matter at all, but it did. Perhaps, he thinks, the way Ros is keening for it isn’t all acting for her coin. Perhaps she does want his mouth on her, as Theon did.

Does Theon really make her knees weak?

He plants one hand on the bed beneath him while the other wraps around Ros’s thigh. He likes feeling the way her flesh trembles under his fingers. He’s not focused on Theon when he feels him move from stretched beside Ros to crouched behind Jon, and his slick fingers startle Jon when they trail featherlight along his spine.

“You’re so pretty, Snow,” Theon coos. He’d said it before, in the godswood, but it sounds more honest now, said where Ros can hear. She’s beautiful — far more beautiful than Jon, with his long, grim northern face.

But as Theon slides a finger into him, careful and too slick to hurt, Jon feels Theon’s breath ghost over his back. “Prettiest little thing I’ve ever had.”

Jon whimpers against Ros and Theon huffs a laugh into his ear, pushing a second finger into him. The stretch burns. He’s only done this the once, splayed over his own cloak in the godswood. The memory makes his tongue trip, and Ros keens and rocks into his mouth.

“Wouldn’t you agree, Ros?”

There’s no way Ros knows what Theon had whispered a moment ago, or even that she would know everyone he means if she had, but when she groans and nods, Jon still feels it like a hot blade through his chest.

“Yes, m’lord,” she says, and nothing further, words melting into a soft little moan as she knots her hands into the furs by her head.

She’s lovely, splayed out like this, and Jon remembers Theon’s words with a jolt of pleasure through his gut. _Ros promises to be pretty for you._ Is Jon being pretty for them?

The rough callouses of Theon’s fingers press into him deep, and Jon loses himself for a moment, pleading for the feel of it. Chasing him, Ros throws her legs open wider with a helpless whimper, and Theon’s free hand covers Jon’s on Ros’s leg, holding them both in a firm grip.

“Don’t stop, Jon.”

It’s an order, and Jon is helpless to follow it. He wants to please them, wants to prove himself, wants to give them everything. Don’t stop. _Don’t stop._ He means to say something, to promise that he won’t stop, but his tongue moves on its own now, aching and slick, repeating the same pattern it has since this started. _Theon Greyjoy Theon Greyjoy Theon Greyjoy_

“Such a good boy,” Theon croons, and Jon can feel his cock press against his entrence. “Too good to be a boywhore, aren’t you? You’d not — do this for… just anyone.”

Jon’s not sure if he shakes his head. He’s not sure of anything other than Ros’s heady moaning and Theon’s rich voice in his ear. But he knows his answer. He’d not do this for anyone else. Not unless Theon asked him to.

It’s too much, when Theon pushes into him, and Jon pulls away to cry out against Ros’s thigh. Ros mirrors him, her thighs clenching tight around his head, holding him still. Theon’s hand takes hold of the knot of hair at the back of Jon’s head and tangles into it.

“I told you not to stop, Snow.”

“I’m sorry.” The response is automatic, but his voice slurs so thick against his heavy tongue that Jon’s not sure anyone can understand him. It shouldn’t matter either way, what he’s said. Theon told him not to stop. He shouldn’t have stopped. Breathing labored, he presses into Ros again and laps back into her. As he traces Theon’s name now, she jolts up onto her elbows and cries out, watching him open-mouthed. Perhaps it’s becoming too much for her, too. But Jon won’t stop until she tells him to. It would shatter her, if he did, Theon had said.

“Oh fuck,” is all Theon says now, his voice raw as he starts to rock into Jon with purpose. Jon’s body gives underneath him, and Theon lets go of Jon’s hair to hold their hips flush together. Jon’s legs spread helplessly, slack underneath him as they give Theon the room to press closer, hold him tighter. It feels harsher now, than it had in the godswood. Perhaps he’s just forgotten the pain. He’s certainly forgotten the way it sears through him, burning everything away. He can’t remember where they are, or what is happening around them.

“Shh, you’re so good, Jon,” Theon breathes into his shoulder blade, his hand sliding from Jon’s hip to nest back into his hair as he fucks into him. “You feel so — so good.” 

The hand covering Jon’s own laces their fingers together, squeezing hard against Ros’s thigh. Heat prickling over the back of Jon’s neck, he squeezes back. It feels secret, somehow, even right against Ros’s skin. Something that’s just theirs, even as Jon’s tongue slides inside her. The movement of Theon’s hips pushes Jon in and out of Ros in time with his thrusts, but she only seems to like it, writhing above him in ecstacy.

“Such a good boy,” Theon sighs heavily, his voice louder as he pulls away from Jon’s back. His fist tightens in Jon’s hair. “Isn’t he just? Tell him, Ros. Tell him how good he is.”

Jon can’t decipher Ros’s moans from her words anymore, but he hears her breathing hitch hard overtop him. His tongue can’t possibly be signing Theon’s name any longer. It’s gone numb in his mouth, surely lapping at her like the eager mutt Theon warned him against, but Ros doesn’t appear to mind, shuddering and thrashing under his mouth, and Jon raises his eyes to watch the way her chest heaves for breath, breasts swaying over him.

“Gods,” Ros says finally, “yes. Good — good boy —”

Jon’s suddenly aware of rutting against himself, Ros’s soft furs and his own thighs exquisite torture just short of enough. His mind is fading from how close it all feels. He loses focus. The air around them, the skin of his bedmates, the taste of Ros on his tongue, his own urgent release. He’s losing his mind. He must be, because Theon’s grip in his hair is turning frantic, yanking at his scalp.

“ _My_ good boy,” Theon is groaning, and he can’t be, not in front of someone else like this, blatant and possessive. “Only — only does what I say —”

He’s breathless and quiet now, drunken whispering. He’d sounded this way before, in the godswood. He’s close, he must be, because his mouth is running and his hips are losing rhythm. Jon feels his own cock throbbing against his leg as Theon’s nails rip the band of cloth from his hair and it tumbles over his face, into his eyes, brushing ticklish against Ros’s sensitive skin.

“That’s — oh _gods_ m’lord —”

She’s shivering against his mouth, mewling and twisting, making it hard to keep moving, but Theon is holding his head still against her, giving him no other choice. He doesn’t want one. It’s unbelievably freeing, to have it taken from him this way.

“My — perfect boy,” Theon groans, his grip tight as he fucks so hard into Jon his vision goes white. “You’re — so good for me.”

It’s all Jon wants, all he’s ever wanted, and burning seed fills him abruptly, so much he feels it running over his thighs. He’s keening, desperate, and pulled suddenly from Ros. His back slams hard against a warm, solid chest and strong, graceful fingers wrap around his cock.

“I want —” Jon heaves, not even sure what it is he wants. Not to stop. Theon told him not to stop.

“That’s it,” Theon purrs, his voice breathless and hard in Jon’s ear. "Gods, Ros, look at him, the way he gags for it." Theon slides two fingers of his free hand between Jon's lips, and Jon’s throat works to swallow them without thought. "Could have a cock for either end of him and he'd still not be satisfied. Would you?"

Shaking his head, Jon sucks harder at Theon's fingers. 

Theon groans, burying his face in Jon's neck. "My perfect boy," he whispers, his voice still heady and drunk, even though he’s spent. Jon swallows hard around Theon’s fingers and drops his eyes to find Ros. It shouldn’t surprise him to see her eyes are pinned on him, focused. Theon had told her to look.

But it’s not just Jon she’s watching. The way Theon is wrapped around him; claiming, solid. Theon knows she can see. He wants her to. The onslaught of sensation and emotion suddenly overwhelm him, and a sob rips from Jon’s throat as he spends in Theon’s hand.

For a moment, the world fades to nothing. He doesn’t feel real. Nothing does. But then cold air hits his face, cooling tears on his cheeks. 

He’s humiliated at the feel of Ros’s hands on his face, though she shushes him so gently he almost forgets she doesn’t know him enough to love him. He breathes deeply, failing to steady himself when he hears Theon’s voice.

“Give him here, I’ve got him.”

It’s the gentlest thing Jon has ever heard, and his breathing comes in deep, calming gasps as Theon’s hands cup his face.

“Look at me, Jon, that’s it.” There’s a kiss on his forehead, and Theon brushes sweat-slicked hair from his face. “You did so good, Jon. My good boy. Look here.”

His mind is still swimming, watery at the edges, rocking him back and forth in Theon’s arms. Theon would not cradle him this way, not even alone in the godswood. When he’s able to focus on Theon’s face, he’s pressed close, bowed over him. Their foreheads are touching, making it hard to see his face.

“You’re alright, Jon. Good boy. Keep breathing.”

Jon nods, his breath shuddering. It wasn’t an unpleasant cry. He doesn’t want Theon to think he’s scared.

“I — I’m alright,” he parrots back. He’s not sure Theon can understand him through the way he’s panting. “It was — it was good.”

Theon’s chest swells and vibrates with a laugh, and he kisses Jon’s forehead again. “Aye, I thought so,” he says, pulling back to grin at him. “You’d done too good to be upset.”

The compliment is warm in Jon’s stomach, still piecing back together from wherever he’d gone. He smiles to himself. As Jon becomes aware of the world around them more fully, he realizes they’re both still nude, tangled together as he’s scooped tight in Theon’s lap. It feels too delicate, for Theon, and Jon swallows the remains of a sharp nervousness still lodged in his throat. 

“I’m alright,” he repeats, shy. He expects Theon to let him go, and twists a little in his arms to try and catch himself before he does, but Theon’s arms stay solid around him.

“Aye, you’ve said,” Theon tells him with a grin. “I know better than to think you a liar.”

He doesn’t seem to mind the way he’s holding Jon at all. Curious, Jon looks around until he spots Ros on the far edge of the bed. The way Theon is wrapped around him, he’d half expected her to be gone. But she’s not more than arm’s distance away, and smiles when Jon looks at her.

“Aye, you don’t have to assure me. I’ve no worries for when a man comes to tears in my bed, Snow.”

A little less embarrassed, Jon chuckles and drops his gaze. Theon’s fingers are still toying with the hair around his face. Absently, he wonders where the band that held it back has gone. Theon seems to have forgotten it entirely. 

“Lie with me a moment, Snow, you’re alright.”

He is, he knows, but Theon drags him down onto the bed anyway, and holds him solidly against his chest. Curious, Jon lifts his head to look at him. Theon stares back at him with an intensity Jon hasn’t witnessed before, not even when the two of them lie together alone. His eyes are so bright Jon thinks they may cast more light than the candles burning down along Ros’s shelves.

“You’re alright,” Theon says again. Jon’s tears have dried. There’s no reason for him to say it now, but Jon nods, anyway. Theon knots a hand into Jon’s hair and tugs him down into a kiss, warm and gentle and sweet. It twists in Jon’s heart, and he groans into it, falling limp against him. He’s never felt so warm. 

Jon has long forgotten where they are when Theon breaks the kiss. For a moment, it seems Theon has too, before his eyes glance away from Jon’s face and his body goes abruptly tense underneath Jon’s hands.

“Drowned fuck, Ros. Isn’t it you who owes me coin, if you’re going to gawk like that?”

Ros had been so quiet that he’d forgotten she was there at all. But when he looks over, Ros is only smirking at them, a quiet laugh on her lips. “Sorry, m’lord. Thought mayhaps you’d want me to watch.”

Nervously, Jon glances through his lashes to catch a glimpse of Theon’s face, pinched and sour as it glares back at Ros without response.

“My apologies, m’lord,” Ros says, sounding a touch more professional when she speaks again. “I hadn’t meant to intrude. Hadn’t realized you’d forgotten I was here.”

The words feel sharp, when she says them, though it’s obvious she doesn’t mean them to sting. Jon stares down at Theon’s chest again, watching his blush burn past his neck. Jon shuffles, trying to turn small and invisible in Theon’s arms, but Ros seems to understand her mistake and shifts to lean more comfortably against her bed.

“It can be addling, when it’s that good, though, I know. Can’t say I don’t want a bit of some such attention, myself.”

Jon feels his own face turn scarlet at that. When he looks back up at Theon, he’s got a lopsided smirk on his face.

“As long as that’s not a trick to get more coin out of me.”

Ros giggles in response, and squeals when Theon grabs her by the elbow and drags her down to his mouth, kissing her soundly while Jon gapes at them. They look so lovely, the angles of them, glowing soft from the fading candlelight. Theon’s jaw works against hers, strong and dominating, and a soft noise falls from Jon’s mouth.

Theon breaks the kiss with Ros slowly, in pieces, but his hand finds Jon’s instantly, and gives his fingers a delicate squeeze. Jon isn’t jealous, though Theon may think he is. Even watching them, Jon senses something different between them, than what Jon felt just a moment ago. Perhaps it wasn’t Jon Theon was reassuring, when he’d fallen back onto the bed.

Feeling oddly wise, Jon curls his hand around Theon’s, and squeezes back.

When Ros pulls away from Theon, she tucks a loose curl behind her ear and smiles. She looks over at Jon, reaching her hand out to touch his cheek.

“And how about you, little lordling? Is there anything more you need?”

Jon shakes his head, and Theon huffs a laugh. Perhaps he knows better. He must, because he pulls Jon back onto his chest.

“Just rest a moment, Snow. It’ll be a sore ride back to the castle.”

Back to the castle. Jon feels tears tug at his throat. Afraid his voice may crack if he speaks, he only curls tight into Theon with a nod. His fingers are still wrapped around Theon’s hand, and he squeezes at his palm again. Theon sighs and laces their fingers without a word. Jon wonders if Ros noticed, but he doesn’t care enough to look and see.

The residual scent of the oils makes the air thick around them, warming absently next to the rows of candles. It seeps into Jon and makes him feel heavy and tired. He nuzzles into Theon silently, letting himself pretend they have nowhere else to be. He shuts his eyes when he feels Ros move, either to shift closer to them or to lie down herself, Jon can’t tell. There’s a quiet shuffle, and Jon feels the warm weight of furs drape over them. Ros says something to Theon, but her voice is low, and Jon feels himself dozing.

It can’t be more than a minute that he fades. He’s aware again of Theon and Ros’s soft voices before he even realizes there was silence. But the light behind his eyes is dimmer now. Perhaps Ros got up to snuff some of her candles. Theon’s hand twists gently in Jon’s hair, and the bed creaks as Ros moves again.

Jon knows he should say something to let Theon know he is no longer asleep, but he’s never felt what he feels now, curled warm into Theon’s chest, Ros’s soft silks and furs draped over the both of them. He knows Ros is seated on the bed as well. He can feel the dip in the featherbed from her weight, and knows Theon is turned toward her as he holds Jon against him. It’s comfortable and gentle, and Jon longs to stay.

“Gods, if he sleeps much longer it’ll be another stag out of my pocket,” Theon grumbles.

Perhaps if he sounded angrier, Jon would sit up, but Ros answers before he can consider it. 

“Oh, stop,” she says, her voice a soft sigh, “you’ve paid well enough. If he sleeps through the night, I’ll take your money then.”

She giggles at that, but Theon is silent. Jon wishes he could see his face. 

“He’d better not,” Theon grunts finally. 

Jon shuffles closer in Theon’s arms, hoping the action is a convincing movement in sleep. He feels Ros sprawl out on the other side of him, and bites the inside of his cheek to keep from reacting when she pets his hair.

“Don’t be so cruel,” she whispers with a tisk. “Perhaps I’ll not charge him anything. After you paid so handsomely for his nameday present and he didn’t even get to have me then. And he’s such a sweet little thing.”

Heat blooms up Jon’s neck. He burrows his face into Theon’s skin in an effort to stay hidden. Theon only clicks his tongue. “I get no such courtesies on _my_ nameday.”

“I was hardly your first, Lord Greyjoy,” Ros says with a chuckle. Jon feels her lean over him to kiss Theon’s cheek. “You told me as much many times.”

Theon drops from his side onto his back, and Jon shuffles to close the distance between them automatically. He hears Ros coo sweetly, and hopes neither of them notice the way his neck burns red. They lie in silence for a while before Theon’s fingers brush the hair from Jon’s face. He doesn’t open his eyes, too afraid to be realized, but he can feel Theon watching him, turning his stomach to water.

“You’re quite keen on this one,” Ros says after a moment. Jon feels her pull the furs straighter over his back. “You’ve never brought any of the boywhores to me.”

It’s effort, to keep his eyes from snapping open.

“I’ve not thought they’d enjoy it,” Theon grumbles. “Not much for girls, are they?”

“Such a caring boy, you are,” Ros says earnestly with a gentle tease to her voice, and Jon hears her kiss him again. “Not many of the men come through here care much at all about what we whores enjoy.”

Theon’s quiet for a moment. When he finally speaks, there’s an odd apprehension in his voice. “It’s no fun if you don’t like it.”

Jon remembers what Smalljon Umber had said, nearly a year ago now, how his jab at the Ironborn that had gotten Theon into trouble in the tavern. Theon has never mentioned it again, not even once, and Jon doesn’t ask. He’s not sure of how deep the barb goes, and Theon is far too proud to ever tell him. Jon’s hand tightens where it rests on Theon’s shoulder, an instinctive attempt to soothe him. Thankfully, Theon doesn’t notice.

Ros seems to have sensed the shift in his mood as well, and steers the subject away with a soft click of her tongue.

“Well, I certainly wasn’t left wanting tonight.” She pets Jon’s hair with a quiet, happy sigh. “Surprising thing, this one. When you told me he’d still never had a woman I wasn’t expecting him to learn so fast.”

Theon snorts. “Aye, he’s a clever little bastard.”

Despite himself, Jon smiles. He’s never liked being called a bastard, but Theon seems almost proud of him now, not quite focused on his status, only that he’s clever.

“Such high praise, from an Ironborn!” Ros’s voice picks up in volume when she feigns excitement, and Theon shushes her.

“You’ll wake him.”

“Oh aye,” Ros answers, dropping her voice back to a knowing whisper, “I thought that’s what you wanted, m’lord. To save yourself the coppers.”

Tension curls in Jon’s chest as he listens to the growing silence between them. Theon doesn’t answer. 

It’s Ros who speaks again, a moment later. “It’s quite sweet, that you care for him. Never took you for one who held them so gently after. You never stay to hold me this long. Could it be love?”

“Watch yourself.” 

There’s anger underneath his words, but Jon barely hears him at all over the sudden crack of the air around them breaking open. There’s an icy weight in his gut, and he hopes Theon doesn’t notice him flinch. They both must hear how loud his heart is suddenly pounding. They can’t know he heard, but he’s not sure he can pretend he hasn’t. Jon’s breath is still ragged against Theon’s skin when Ros shifts, and Jon feels her sit up from the bed.

“Suit yourself,” she answers with an unimpressed sigh. “You lords are always so strange about your wants. Though I suppose if you weren’t, I’d not have nearly as much gold to my name.”

“You’re bold this evening,” Theon growls. His voice is somewhat louder, to carry further, but he places a hand over Jon’s ear instinctively, as he speaks. “Funny to think I pay you at all when you scold me like a damned wife.”

“I only ever give the lord what he wants,” Ros says in a gentle sing-song voice. “Perhaps it’s what you get, with the free night I’m giving you.”

Theon’s shoulder shifts underneath Jon’s head. “Huh?”

“Aye, the darling sleeps like a lamb. It’d break my heart to wake him. Besides, I won’t be working again until tomorrow afternoon, and there’s other rooms in this brothel for my own rest. If you stay too late in the morning I’ll take more coppers off you, then. Sleep well, Lord Greyjoy.”

“Wh—?” Theon’s voice cuts off when Ros leans forward to give him a kiss. Theon’s hand moves from around Jon’s middle to touch her, and Jon wishes he could watch. He’d looked so beautiful before, when he’d kissed her.

When they break apart, Ros bows her head, and her long soft hair cascades over Jon’s face when she places a soft kiss on his temple. She must’ve taken it down, while she and Theon were talking.

“Sleep well, Snow,” she whispers in his ear. She doesn’t move away instantly, instead lowers her voice even further and adds, “And be gentle with our Lord Greyjoy’s heart, for me.”

Feeling brave, Jon risks a hesitant peek from the corner of his eye. Ros is smiling down at him, her hair still draped down between Jon and Theon’s faces like a curtain. Unsurprised, she gives him a small wink before tucking her hair behind her ear.

Heart pounding in Jon’s ears, he shuts his eyes tightly again, trying to keep his breathing steady through the swell of anxious panic in his lungs.

“I’ll be back in the morning to shoo the two of you out before the madame causes too much fuss,” Ros says over her shoulder. The remaining glow of candlelight from behind Jon’s eyelids is snuffed out, and his breath catches in his throat. 

“Hey,” Theon’s voice is deeper, when he tries to keep it soft. Jon feels it rumble in his chest. He pauses, and Jon expects Ros turns to look at him before leaving. “Thank — thank you.”

There’s no response before Jon hears the heavy ironwood door click shut behind her.

Jon breathes in the smell of Theon while they lie together in silence. A quiet whimper leaves his mouth when Theon’s fingers start to roll through his hair again, but Theon takes no notice of it.

“Gods, you’re a spoiled brat,” Theon whispers into Jon’s curls.

Heart like a hammer in his throat, Jon doesn’t respond. He wonders at first if perhaps Theon knows as Ros did, that he’s still awake. But Theon doesn’t say anything further, and his nails drag gentle over his scalp. As the silence ticks on, Theon’s fingers slow, twisting sleepily around his loose curls.

When they lie together back in the castle, Jon is always vibrating with excitement until sleep abruptly engulfs him. Now, as he forces himself to stay still, as convincingly asleep as he can manage, he hears the long, deep sigh that stirs his hair. Even as Theon’s breathing deepens and his hand falls slack, Jon feels tension in his chest, pulling his shoulders tight. Jon wonders if perhaps he can’t get comfortable, with another body in bed with him. 

He had mentioned before, preferring the brothel girls because they didn’t beg for his company after. Not like Jon does.

“Jon?”

It’s a trick, it must be. Jon opens his eyes, his face turned away from Theon’s in the dark. It feels safe enough, as he stares unblinking at the ironwood door he can barely make out in the dim light of the stars from Ros’s window.

It feels like hours before Theon sighs. “Gods, you’re so warm.”

It’s strange. Theon has said it to him before, but somehow Jon feels the words are not meant for him this time, barely audible under Theon’s breath as he presses a kiss to the crown of Jon’s head. It’s so delicate Jon almost doesn’t feel it. He would’ve thought he’d imagined it, if not for the way Theon’s body finally unspools against him as he does it. Jon’s heart constricts in his chest, pulling his throat tight and prickling at his eyes.

The silence crushes him now. Heavy weight pushing down on his bones. He never wants to fall asleep now. Once he falls asleep, it’s all but over. He’s not sure what will come of them, when day breaks. If Theon will pretend again that sleeping beside him is a trial, or that his attention is out of pity or returned favours. But perhaps they’ve passed that, now. Now that Ros has seen through them as she has, now that this night together has shattered something. Jon hopes it will be different. Hopes perhaps they may steal time away from the castle, now and then, to sleep beside each other through the night. 

Jon lets his mind wander until he hears the soft rhythm of Theon’s snores break through the quiet of the room. Jon finally braves a glance at Theon’s face, marveling in the look of him in sleep, even as he has to squint to see him through the darkness. His features seem softer, hair drooping over his eyes. Smiling, Jon reaches out to brush it off his face before he places his hand over Theon’s chest, and nestles back into his side, falling asleep to the steady beat of Theon’s heart under his fingers.

**Author's Note:**

> title from "Longer Shadows, Shorter Days" by Raised By Swans


End file.
